Bullying
by StrongerThanISeem
Summary: Burt sees some bruises after a hard day for Kurt. He jumps to conclusions. Noah flees. Puck/Kurt.


TITLE: **Bullying **

AUTHOR: _StrongerThanISeem_

RATING: _T_

WARNINGS: _Homosexual relations of the romantic persuasion. Language. Slight references to sex. What else is new?_

DISCLAIMER: _If I owned this, boy, the FCC would hate me. _

SUMMARY: Burt sees some bruises after a hard day for Kurt. He jumps to conclusions. Noah flees.

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"Well, I'll be damned." Was the first thing the father of one very self-righteously pissed off Kurt Hummel said when he saw the state the boy was in. "I thought I told Figgins to keep a leash on those monster jocks!"

"Dad, please. Don't throw yourself into cardiac arrest. It wouldn't do well for anyone." Kurt hissed, striding to the edge of the garage to grab a towel. His usually immaculate clothes were disheveled and covered in mud. The resonating _booms_ shaking the modest mechanic garage provided a reasonable explanation. Damn. When it stormed in Lima, it _stormed_.

While the soprano dabbed at the thick mess coating his jacket—"This is a tragedy for Dolce everywhere!"—and face—"Hell knows how long my moisturizing session will be tonight," Burt stood rather impatiently beside a Toyota engine. His son finally uttered a moan of despair over the loss of his brand new, not to mention drop-dead gorgeous, pants. His Prada dress shoes lay off to the side of the concrete room, festering in a pile of twigs, grass, and black mud.

Burt swore vehemently to himself. Those football playing idiots had gone too far this time!

The elder Hummel, though his heart ached at seeing the pitiful look that crossed Kurt's face every time he came home from being tossed into the dumpster or—damn it, what was the word? Slushied?— before turning to the confident ice prince, could take the bullying so long as Kurt was okay and safe. He had to put up with the gleek's mutterings of death for every outfit that couldn't be dry-cleaned, yeah, but it was worth it to know that Kurt found himself growing stronger and into his own person because he wouldn't let them put him down. Especially with Carole's son, Finn, and the rest of the male Glee club members having made tentative friendships with Kurt.

But this was definitely Unacceptable. Dry-cleaning expenses used to be the only damage done to them. However, Kurt's haggard appearance of soaked and overall nasty—holy hell, were those _bruises_ covering Kurt's arms and neck?— just struck a deep chord. His son was being degraded, man-handled, and overall terrorized.

"Kurt, are you okay?"

"Please. I'm perfectly alright. Though my complexion is going to be shot to pieces…" The wince that followed Kurt's typical hip jut spoke otherwise. Burt's brow creased even more.

"What did they do? Who was it? I swear, my shotgun is still in the—"

"Dad! There will be no shooting of _anybody_, understand?"

"They obviously need their asses kicked." He muttered to himself, his fingernails digging into his oil stained palm as Kurt rummaged through the wooden drawers kept in the main office for a pair of overalls. The boy walked towards the small adjacent bathroom besides the unused couch. He rolled his eyes as he passed Burt who stood next to the desk littered with receipts and orders.

"They need it more than a human needs air, but that isn't the point. Don't worry yourself, dad. It's fine. No one did anything to me."

"Then tell me why they grabbed you around your neck? And why you have bruises on your forearms." The skin was very much visible under the office's fluorescent lights and they were darkening rapidly.

Kurt's eyes had widened, staring at his father as if he had grown three arms, purple horns, and started singing Defying Gravity. His face had started to run suspiciously red as well.

As fast as his game-winning legs could carry him, Kurt shot to bathroom, slamming the door, though it didn't close completely. Burt could make out his son's reflection in the mirror. His hands were roaming the bruises littering his pale throat. His eyes held an outrageous amount of fury—which surprised Burt more than anything. The only times Kurt had truly gotten angry were when his middle school wouldn't allow him to wear his Elphalba costume for Halloween, and when Rachel Berry had tried to have a "heart to heart" with his boy. Kurt had stormed into the house, whispering heatedly beneath his breath, but he had heard the words 'flaming,' 'argyle, 'conniving,' and 'baby.' He just didn't want to know.

What Burt could only assume was a curse—he didn't know French, so sue him—echoed through the garage. Rob, who was the only one working through the downpour occurring outside, lifted his head up to gaze at Burt through the Plexiglas wall. He had noticed Kurt pushing himself into the auto shop but was wise enough not to ay anything. Rob still didn't know much about Kurt, which came in handy when shit like this happens.

The owner of the shop stood there, controlling his breathing, until Kurt closed the door fully. Then was he able to allow the scowl to consume his face. Someone had hurt his little boy. Whether Kurt allowed it or not, his rifle would be see the light of day _very_ soon.

Burt stood there pondering the many places he could hide the bodies of an entire high school football team (there were no oceans even remotely close enough to dump the corpses) when Kurt slowly opened the door. He stood in a white t-shirt now streaked with brown and blue coveralls. His face still had blotches of mud and his hair still stuck in patches, though it was pushed around enough to make it semi-presentable.

Burt expected a few tears, or even more anger, but the Kurt he saw step out of that tiny bathroom had turned passive. Resigned. The man raised an eyebrow in part shock and horrified curiosity at him.

"The water's broken." Kurt mumbled, still gliding gracefully as ever about the room, collecting the soiled clothes. He 'tsk'ed in frustration at the dirty heap piled into a corner, but other than that, no sounds were made.

"Kurt. Why won't you tell me what's going on? These jerks are bullying you. They're hurting you."

"No one is hurting me, I promise."

"I can tell when you're lying."

"What would ever make you think that?"

"You get fidgety when you lie."

The kicker sighed and shifted to one foot. "Fine. I'm a tad sore but it's nothing that a good soak in the tub won't fix."

"Tell me what happened, Kurt. Please."

The 'please' obviously made Kurt uncomfortable and a little guilty. "I fell?"

"You fell."

"Y-Yeah."

Burt leveled the ground with The Parental Stare of Disapproval (patent pending). Kurt averted his eyes and cleared his throat.

"Please just let it go."

That he couldn't do. He 'let go' all of the times he had to buy Kurt new school supplies because his locker was defaced. He 'let go' the lawn furniture due to Kurt's persistence to do just that. He's still working on 'letting go' the anonymous phone calls the randomly appear throughout the day.

He's not going to let go the fact that _this_ time, there's bodily harm.

"I want to know something," Kurt raised a defined eyebrow as the signal for 'go ahead.' "When did you stop telling me things?"

The slender shoulders hidden under cotton tensed. "I'm not…it's…" Kurt stumbled, looking particularly guilty, which immediately set off an alarm bell inside the mechanic's head.

"There's something I want to confess to you." The teen admitted after a few more seconds of floundering. Burt cleared his throat, and discreetly wiped his hands on his jeans. Deep family moments always unnerved him, but he was getting better at it.

"There's this guy…Noah Puckerman, and I—"

"Noah Puckerman? That mohawked guy who threw_ pee balloons_ at you?"

"Thank you for bringing that _heart-warming_ memory back, but actua—"

"That punk is going to get it. I'm going to Figgins right now and demanding to suspend that piece of shit."

"Wait, dad—"

By the time Kurt's increasingly alarmed protests were on his lips, Burt was charging out of the office like a bull, snorting and spitting. Kurt watched onwards as he huddled his cap and jacket around him before trekking out into the rain to get to his truck. It was only a minute later before that same truck headed for the direction of the high school.

The feminine soprano gaped at the door for a few more seconds before throwing himself onto the creaky couch. He rolled his head against the backboard and glanced at Rob, who looked far too amused to be fixing a broken carburetor.

Kurt settled himself into the plush interior and sighed. On one hand, he could go charging out in his baby to stop his dad from reaching the principal. On the other, he could go home and change into his silk pajamas, grab he gallon of frozen yogurt, and watch America's Next Top Model for three hours straight.

Finding himself too exhausted for either, let alone to lift his hand up to brush that _annoying_ lock of wet hair out of his face, Kurt let his body take a few moments peace to recuperate. Today had been a hell of a day.

He was forced to open his eyes, however, when his iPhone began blaring Lady GaGa's 'Telephone.' Kurt pushed himself forward and pawed around in his designer bag before locating the vibrating object. The screen read 'Puckzilla.'

It showed that he had one new text message, and pushing down on the touch screen, Kurt sighed.

**'hey u still mad?'**

Kurt huffed to himself as he glared at the glowing device. He was indeed very mad, and his boyfriend of two months and six days (but who's counting?) wasn't helping him.

**'If being forced to run through the park with you after it starts raining and being pushed into mud constitutes as being mad, then yes. I am.'**

**'sex was gr8 tho.'**

The boy clicked his tongue against his teeth.

**'That was why you shoved me? To have sex in filth?'**

**'didn't hear u complainin.'**

While that had been true, it still didn't mean Noah was off the hook. Their romantic day after school under the pretense of 'studying' at the park was ruined by the torrential downpour that happened in only seconds flat. Kurt and Noah had started running for the Navigator but before Kurt could comprehend what was going on, he felt a strong hand against his back, knocking him onto the ground. The next moment, a frisky Noah was on top of him, grinding and kissing. He tried to shove the older boy away before his outfit was completely trashed, but Noah quickly solved that problem.

His brain had told him that it was such a bad idea, anyone could see, they were going to get sick! And then Noah had done that thing with the tongue and they were bucking against each other and _**oh God.**_ Goodbye rational thought.

'**That was a perfectly good scarf that is now defiled by mud and who knows what other fluids.'**

**'u kno what fluids. ;)'**

**'Shut up. I'm mad at you.'**

**'aw cmon bb, I can't help it when I c u wet and wit dat ass. :)' **

Kurt choked a little bit, and shifted so that he was lying on his side. His backside _hurt._ Then all of a sudden, the past twenty minutes caught up with him.

**'You might want to run for your life.'**

**'wat? Y?' **

**'My dad thinks you had hurt me earlier.'**

**'y wud he think that?'**

**'He saw the bruises and hickeys. He's either going to get Figgins to suspend you, or he's going to come to your house.'**

Kurt waited five whole minutes for his always nimble-fingered lover to reply.

**'Noah?'**

There was no response.

"Oh well." Kurt breathed. If his dad managed to somehow convince Figgins to suspend Noah without Kurt's side of the story (he cringed at how awkward that would be to explain to them what happened), Noah would have an adequate excuse for him to cut school.

If his dad went after him with a gun (which he highly doubts—he hid that monster long time ago when his dad went through his phase of polishing it every day), Noah would claim it would make him look bad-ass despite the fact that he had probably shitted himself once he found about the elder Hummel's journey. Kurt would fuss over him, but eventually Noah would distract him some…other way.

If his dad just decided to rough his boyfriend up for 'lashing out against my gay son' then at least Noah's bruises would match his, if for an entirely different reason.

And he did so love to match with Noah.

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_I personally find this rushed. But nonetheless, it is written. I'm happy now that I've gotten this out of my system. I apologize for any mistakes. My keyboard is literally crap. I hope you enjoyed this!_

_May I mention how much I loved last night's episode of Glee? I've listened to Kurt's rendition of Rose's Turn so many times now, it isn't funny. Not to mention Noah's sexy 'Lady is a Tramp'? Glee = love = wonderful fantasies._


End file.
